


Discordance

by suilven



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suilven/pseuds/suilven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Wardens and their companions return to the destroyed remains of Lothering, can Leliana come to terms with the fact the town that she remembers is no more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discordance

This was not  _her_  Lothering.

In her Lothering, the light had danced over the long grasses in the heat of summer.

In her Lothering, there was the sound of the rain at night, pattering against the stone, as she knelt in the soft and holy darkness beside her cot.

All of it was etched in her memory, hand in hand with that moment of lightness, of transcendence, when she had flown in the stillness of her soul. It was here that she had been given her purpose. It was here that she had stretched towards a cautious hope that she could be cleansed, could be forgiven.

Now, it was nothing but embers and ash, skeletal houses lurching across a broken landscape. The very earth seemed to disintegrate under her boots as she walked past the mockery that remained of the places that had once been familiar, littered with broken fragments of life: a torn pair of trousers, a child's doll, a spoon.

They should not have returned.

Her eyes darted to each body they passed; the ones that were unrecognizable were a blessing. But, the rest? There were no words… only a hollow sense of numbness that kept her moving forward. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, to remember them the way they  _had_  been, not these ravaged nightmares. Was it the Maker's will that she bear witness here? She took it all in, drinking deep of the horror that now saturated this place. If only she could weep, but she was as dry as the grit that clung to her skin.

The others—Elissa, Alistair, Morrigan—held back, waiting for her as she picked through the remains, delaying the inevitable until the Chantry loomed before her. The building still stood, a lone survivor amidst the rubble, though the great doors lay in splintered fragments at her feet. She stepped over them gingerly as she made her way inside.

The interior was destroyed—had she expected anything less?—and the air still hung with the scent of smoke and rot. The aroma of sweet incense was long gone... just another memory now.

Nothing had been left untouched: the benches had been smashed and overturned, the tapestries torched. Scraps of parchment lay scattered across the stone like the tuneless notes of a forgotten song. Her sisters were here, too, bloodied and broken on the battlefield of her own Ostagar. They were not warriors. There had been no combat, only slaughter.

She should have done more. She should have stayed. But, who was she to deny the Maker's will?

Sister Elena with the shy smile and the foot that twisted inward. Sister Seren who had gone from calling her 'that Orlesian girl' to 'my dear Leliana' as they'd worked together to decipher a text from Sister Justine in Denerim.

All of them… gone.

She knelt by each one, whispering words of prayer from the Chant, her true words unsaid.

_Forgive me._

She lingered until Elissa came looking for her, taking her by the hand and leading her back out into the muted light. No one said anything as she shouldered her pack with a shaky nod; Alistair stared at her for a moment, a look heavy with sadness and understanding. It was time to go. Even Morrigan was subdued by the hush of nothingness that permeated this place, with only the wind and their footprints to disturb the dead. The light was fading, and they needed to find a place to camp—as far away from here as they could get before night fell. Perhaps the darkness would swallow this place, leaving nothing but the shadows in her mind. She numbly placed one foot in front of the other, trying not to think, not to feel, but there was suddenly an odd lump under her boot and she hesitated, then stopped.

She slid her foot back—almost afraid of what she might see. There was something in the dirt that glittered with the last slivers of sunlight coming through the clouds. Her fingers trembled as she scraped it free, realizing what it was. The others had stopped as well, waiting for her.

Holding it aloft, the twine from her hand unwound to reveal tiny beads of glass and thin metal rods, now irreparably bent and broken. The clasp for the central metal disc hung open, the medallion missing. She remembered the smell of the flowers, of the fresh earth newly dug by her hands. A hint of breeze ruffling her hair, jostling the chimes that hung on the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the Chantry gardens. 'The Maker's music', the Revered Mother had said once in an uncharacteristic moment of poetry, her nose smudged with dirt.

The chimes in her hands swayed as she broke down, her own motion making them sing in a plaintive jangling chorus; a ghost of its former beauty. She fell to her knees and Elissa was there beside her, warm arms wrapped around her as she wept. Leliana clung to her, taking what comfort she could in the simple presence of another living being. When she had nothing left, Elissa gently untangled the chimes from her fingers and tucked them carefully into her pack.

It was then that she saw it.

Leliana crawled forward on her knees, a supplicant before an altar, to retrieve the small golden disc that lay on the battered ground. Turning it over in her palm, she ran her fingertip over the symbol of Andraste's flame that was stamped in its center.

A reminder.

She would not forget.

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light._

_I shall weather the storm._

_I shall endure._


End file.
